Houdringhe Estate

Hydrangea around the outside walls

and in the house is the shuffling 

by servants along the columns.

He is coming, her chops clack

through the corridor, she sweeps,

dressed in French silk with lace.

Centuries already, his horse trots 

there, beats up forest ground and

he weighs words of love, sings

her name, repeated by wind.

Owls are witnesses, trees are bending

to the proud country house.

No today time,

renewed alley

drive off his song.